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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29238615">an old tale from father</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocopocky/pseuds/chocopocky'>chocopocky</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Blades of Gunnhildr, Bozja, Gen, Patch 5.45 Spoilers, Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV) Backstory</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:56:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>920</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29238615</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocopocky/pseuds/chocopocky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>memories, dreams, for those we have lost, for those we can still save, and yet. does it matter in the end if we cant ever do any of it?</p><p>(this contains spoilers for patch 5.45, in particular, the main story for bozja.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>an old tale from father</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi, thanks for clicking again! I'll reiterate that this writing contains spoilers for the patch 5.45 Save the Queen, please finish the main storyline past the raid Delubrum Reginae for the best reading experience!</p><p>As for an actual, this writing is in the perspective of my Hrothgar, Shin (Or also known as Sigurd) Okusawa. He's a Lost Ones Hrothgar so the beginning part is written in a nomadic perspective to the best of my abilities. Thank you again for reading, I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ah, father, I’m bored..”</p><p> </p><p>The expanse of plains broadened across the horizon, painted by the bright sunlight of day. Footpaths created by travelers laid the land bare, creating roads that layer towards other civilizations. Yet, it was quiet, aside from a group of two who traversed the path. Yes, it was another day of traveling on the roads again, paved by the steps of others who left their mark.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, there isn’t much to do about that. We’ve got a long way to the next town, and we only packed up camp an hour or so ago.” The older Hrothgar said as he adjusted his pack of supplies resting on his back, letting the sound of empty pans and wares rustle in order to talk for itself. </p><p>“Aww… fine..” the other Hrothgar said, clearly very young, especially seen in his height. He let out a puff and also adjusted his pack of supplies on his back, preparing himself for the trip ahead. Then, a thought came to the younger one.</p><p>“Can you at least tell me a story, please?” </p><p>“Oh? Of what my child?”</p><p>The younger Hrothgar pondered for a moment while walking, slowing his pace slightly from his thoughts. Yet it didn’t take long for him to pick up his pace again.</p><p>“Oh! Tell me a story about that one place you lived! What was it called.. Bos-Jah?”</p><p>“Ah, Bozja?” The older Hrothgar was surprised at the younger one’s curiosity. A rush of nostalgia filled his eyes upon a blink, and a slight reminiscence of older times flushed across his body.</p><p>“Hm, how about the queen herself, and her bodyguards?”</p><p>Almost immediately, the younger Hrothgar turned his attention to the older one with delight, shown in his eyes beaming widely.</p><p>“Oo! Tell me more!”</p><p>“Well.. Bozja was a city united under the queen, Gunnhildr, and her royal guards were her blades, namely called Gunnhildr’s Blades, all elite trained people of Bozja under her command to protect her and serve the people…”</p><p> </p><p>The story went on, detailing how beautiful the city was, how lovely the people were, the food, the atmosphere. However, it felt as if there was a touch of sorrow. A feeling as if it were just another speckle of the past. For the older Hrothgar, it was indeed the case. Bozja was under Garlean rule now, it was merely just a husk of what it once was. The colorful city that was once remembered became just a mere speck amongst the dust.</p><p>And now, that city was even less, simply a smoking crater, destroyed by Dalamud, then eventually a battleground, a fight for a hope so far from reach, yet, something so graspable. The dirt that once was the townspeople’s was now a canvas splattered with the blood of both Garleans and Resistance members.</p><p> </p><p>When I found out that the resistance was seeking for allies. I knew what I had to do. The opportunity to finally see the people that my father talked so much about, and to fight for their cause, even if I wasn’t one of them gave me enough reason to help. My first arrival in Gangos saw how much work all of these people put, they all wanted to see Bozja again under the same light my father once did. Only furthering my drive to make sure the resistance was able to push through.</p><p>Then, I met the new generation of the Blades of Gunnhildr, those who I looked up to so much when I was younger. It was as if I was seeing my idols in person, and the ability to fight with them left me in awe. Their tenacity, skill with weapons, their bonds, and hardships they carried. All of them had such a different story to tell, yet, they were all blades, united under one banner, for Bozja, for the queen.</p><p>My eyes shifted to the makeshift graves for the now fallen blades. Their legends were only started so recently, but the chapters were closed so fast. Every single one of them were so respectable in their own rights, their training, their bonds.. </p><p>They’ll never share another drink with another, another meal together, another conversation again. They won’t be able to see the end they fought for, the people they saved, the peace they never had.  They didn’t know they’d become abominations fused together, that their last moments fighting wouldn’t be for a cause they all wanted. Their life in their last moments wasn’t even theirs.</p><p> </p><p>Ah. Blood stained my hands again. I was too late again, wasn’t I? If only I saw it coming, if only I was there faster..</p><p>Is it really okay for me to live like this? Would it be okay for me to carry on for Bozja? To keep fighting, knowing that the blood of my own comrades stained my heavy blade, done under the guise of putting them to rest? Do I deserve to smile when I was no hero in the first place?</p><p>It was my burden to bear again, I’ve done it so many times, yet, everytime I find more to carry, it only gets heavier. I struggle to clean myself, to get rid of the rust and spills from the fight. They always come back, covering me more, reminding me of who I am, who I’ve become, the lives lost, the lives that I was supposed to keep. For those we have lost. For those we can yet save. And yet, I was unable to save anyone once more.</p><p> </p><p>...I’m sorry.</p>
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